


Return To Futility

by Cerdic519



Series: Elementary 366 [21]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle, Supernatural
Genre: Acid Attack, Boats and Ships, England (Country), Gay Sex, Islands, Justice, London, M/M, Major Character Injury, Male Prostitution, Recovery, Scars, Trains, Victorian, essex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:47:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25547677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519/pseuds/Cerdic519
Summary: The Complete Cases Of Sherlock Holmes And John Watson. All 366 cases plus assorted interludes, hiatuses, codas &c.1896. Greater love hath no man that he spendeth over half a year on an island in the North Sea, almost completely cut off from civilization. But when it is John caring for a scarred and broken Sherlock, there can be no greater love as even in adversity their bond grows ever stronger. Which is good – because tough times still lie ahead.
Relationships: Lucifer/OMC, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Series: Elementary 366 [21]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1555741
Kudos: 11





	1. Contents

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vignahara](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vignahara/gifts), [fanwitch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fanwitch/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Contents page.

** 1896 **

**Interlude: The Acid Test**  
by Doctor John Watson, M.D.  
_After his ordeal, Sherlock underestimates his beloved John_

 **Interlude: Eleven Or Twelve?**  
by Mr. Sherrinford Holmes, Esquire  
_Sherrinford Holmes causes a man to come apart_

 **Interlude: The Calm And The Storm**  
by Mr. Sherlock Holmes, Esquire  
_The great detective finally realizes how stupid he has been_

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	2. Interlude: The Acid Test

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1896\. Errors of judgement are made....

_[Narration by Doctor John Watson, M.D.]_

Given how close I normally stuck to Baker Street in a job that took me around London, I could hardly have been further away when the man I loved needed me. All I can say is thank God for Sherlock's cousin Mr. Lucifer Garrick who had been at the gymnasium when it had happened and, having escorted my friend to the hospital, had set out in pursuit of me. He had gone first to Baker Street where Mrs. Hudson had directed him to Peter's house as she knew that I was covering one of his patients today. Lady Greenwood had sent him on to Enfield where luckily he had just caught me returning to the station.†

“Sherlock needs you”, he said, hustling me along the platform with more haste than decorum. “Come!”

Looking ahead I realized that he had hired a special, which I immediately thought odd for such a short journey. This was not good. 

“I hoped that a special would be quicker than sending a telegram which might have missed you”, he explained. 

“What has happened?” I asked anxiously.

He took a deep breath. 

“Sherlock has been attacked”, I said. “I am afraid that our bully of a brother Torver did not take kindly to his defeat over that damn play.”

Thankfully he had me in the compartment by this time, and I was able to collapse onto the seat.

“How bad?” I managed.

“Torver employed someone to throw acid at him in that Turkish bath that we use, near Baker Street”, I said grimly. “Thankfully he was trying out one of those mud-packs so his face was spared, but he is scarred all down the right-hand side of his body.”

Despite my shock I somehow knew that there was more. He nodded.

“He asked me not to fetch you”, he admitted. “I told him that that was more than my life was worth, but..... for all his apparent lack of care about his appearance, he will not take this well.”

“I have to be with him!” I said urgently.

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Doctors, they say, do not get on with other doctors, but fortunately the one in charge of Sherlock was a short fellow called Wesley Parrish who, when he tried to stop me seeing my man, found himself bodily thrown up against the nearest wall and told in no uncertain terms to remove himself from my immediate vicinity (I may have phrased it a tad more bluntly than that). I dropped him where he stood and snarled at him when he made to follow me, then burst into Sherlock's room.

“Really?” I snapped, furious at him, his doctor and the world in general. “You think so little of me that I would be put off by _this?_ I have seen you first thing in the morning!”

He turned fully towards me so that I could see the full extent of the damage that his vile brother's attacker had done. He was scarred from his neck all the way down the right-hand side of his body to his feet. I could only thank God for the small mercy that he had been wearing that stupid mud-pack; I had seen an advertisement for one in the newspaper only the other day and had suggested that one or both of us might try it. Mercifully he had, today of all days.

“Look at me, John”, he sniffed dolefully.

“You bloody idiot!” I stormed. “I love the heart inside the man, not the package it comes in. And if anyone feels the urge to say anything about the way you look they had better be prepared to get hit bloody hard, man or woman! Look, the only reason I am not.... cuddling you right now is because it would hurt you.”

He managed a watery smile.

“You hate that word”, he said.

“For you, I would do anything”, I said firmly. “Climb the highest mountain, swim the widest sea, and even.... cuddle. Because I love you.”

He broke down and wept as I watched helplessly, close to tears myself and unable to touch him as I so desperately wanted to.

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I immediately set himself the task of finding somewhere for us to go so that my love could heal. He tried to tell me that Doctor Parrish had said parts of his body might remain scarred for life but I would have none of it, and my repeated declarations of love for him regardless of his appearance finally seemed to start getting through to the idiot. I would love him whatever he looked like; surely he had to know that after all this time.

“I have sorted somewhere for us to go for a few months”, I told him the following day. “Your cousin Mr. Garrick will deal with any requests for help, and you can recover away from it all.”

“Is there such a place still in England?” he asked.

“We have been there already”, I said. “Futility Island.”

He looked at me in surprise. Mr. Bulstrode Falconbridge, the jewel-cutter whom we had once helped, had decided to leave his island as of last year and move to live near his sister after he had suffered a fall and had been unable to summon assistance for a time; fortunately Tom the fisherman had noticed that something was amiss and had come over. The gem-cutter had gifted the island to the council now that he could no longer live on it, but a condition of that had been that the rooms had to be maintained for him and his friends should any of them wish to stay there. 

“Your brother has arranged a special that will take us to Clacton”, I said, “and Tom had said that if we wire him beforehand he will sail there to pick you up so you do not have to face that long road journey down to Mersea.”

He looked close to tears at my few feeble efforts to help him. 

“Torver?” he asked tentatively. I scowled fiercely.

“Your father has publicly disowned him”, I said. “He has taken out a full-page advertisement in the 'Times', would you believe? His lawyers have offered him a small sum provided he officially change his name and depart for the country somewhere.”

“What about Mother?” he asked warily.

I hesitated slightly.

“She was on her way to a funeral of a friend of hers in France”, I said. “I think that was one reason why he struck when he did; he thought to avoid her wrath.”

“She will not be happy when she does find out”, he said, looking curiously at me.

I blushed fiercely. Ah.

“What is it?” he asked.

“I may have sort of sent her a telegram?” I admitted. 

And that was the first time I had seen him smile since the attack. I loved this man so much!

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_Notes:_   
_† Enfield (Great Northern) was a terminus at the time this story is set. It was later closed and replaced by a through station on an adjoining site which became known as Enfield Chase._

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	3. Interlude: Eleven Or Twelve?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1986: Technically one is not supposed to interfere, but....

_[Narration by Mr. Sherrinford Holmes, Esquire]_

As I have said before, knowing what the future brings merely exchanges one set of problems for another, and at no time did I feel this more keenly than now, when I had known the suffering and anguish that lay ahead of my twin but had been unable to prevent it. All I had been able to do was to make sure that John Watson happened to see that advertisement for mud-packs and that my twin's gymnasium decided to offer some free on just the right day. 

Delivering justice on the attackers, however.... that _was_ within my purview. And I would do it with great pleasure!

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It says something for how well Sherlock was regarded across London that within hours of the attack, the police, the information agencies, the molly-houses, the beggars and the criminal fraternity were all on the hunt for the two men responsible. The vile Mr. Torver Holmes deserved the severest punishment imaginable, which meant dropping a note to Swordland's that the villain's mother had decided to rest a day in northern France after a choppy sea-crossing and was therefore not on her original schedule. Hence John Watson's informative message caught her after all, and she would soon be charging back to England at the very least Incandescent (a Level Eleven). I also arranged for Miss St. Leger to obtain the address of her son's hideout; she could likely have found it herself with minimum effort but it would give her more time for all those jam cream fingers.

That left Mr. Eamonn Hulme, the vile excrescence who Mr. Torver Holmes had used for the acid attack on my beloved twin. Doubtless the villain had thought that his taking a new name might hide him from all those eyes, but when two days after the attack he 'accidentally' ran into two policeman not far from great St. Paul's and fled down the wrong alley – well, it was just going to be his bad luck that six of Mr. Crowley's roughest lads were taking some of their burly molly-men friends for a drink, and that Mr. Hulme ran straight into all twelve of them. And that 'someone' nearby happened to shout out who he was and what he had done.

The fellow's remains were found in Whitechapel later that evening. Also in Stepney, Mile End, Shadwell, Poplar, Old Ford, Millwall, Hoxton, Stratford, Dalston, Kingsland and Bow (although they were not sure about that last one as it was such a small part of the male anatomy). Either way, Mr. Hulme certainly got around!

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	4. Interlude: The Calm And The Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1896\. Sherlock recovers and justice prevails – but is the great detective really well again?

_[Narration by Mr. Sherlock Holmes, Esquire]_

We made it to Futility Island and I nearly broke down yet again when I found that John had somehow managed to prepare the whole place for me (he told me that this was Luke's doing but I was sure that the inspiration had come from him). All my things were there, even the violin that he could surely not like me playing, my original deer-stalker and pipe, and enough barley-sugar to last for a year as well as copious supplies of coffee and bacon. I vowed silently to do everything I had in my power to deserve this wonderful man.

Luke came over after a week with some more good news. Torver had fled to the country but Miss St. Leger had given Mother his address and she had gone down to pay him a call and to have a Talk. Fortunately Father had said that he would pay for the hospital treatment of the four constables that it had taken to restrain her (one of whom might never have children, apparently!) and for the rebuilding of the cottage that his wife had demolished half of. The personage calling himself Trevor Hallam whom he did not recognize could pay for his own bloody treatment! 

Best of all I was healing much better than I had expected; John now thought that all my scars would disappear eventually. My life, which had seemed to have been ruined, was somehow back on track.

Luke also brought me news concerning a Mr. Eamonn Hulme, a small-time criminal who Torver had employed to do the actual deed. News had 'somehow' gotten round to my associates in the criminal world who had been less than pleased at his actions, and the fellow's remains had been found in the East End. In at least eleven and possibly twelve places. Apparently quite a few people in London had Not Liked his attack on me.

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They do say that good can sometimes be brought out of bad, and it was three months into our stay on the island when something major happened in our relationship. We were still only holding each other gently and giving or receiving the occasional hand-job when John suddenly came out with something as we stood outside on the railing around the great light atop the light-house.

“I want to have sex.”

I smiled. Subtle as ever, my beloved. But his next words took my breath away.

“And I want to make love to you.”

We had known each other in the Biblical sense for some two years now, and every time I had taken the lead. I had wondered on more than one occasion if he might like to for a change but he always seemed do happy with the way things were that I had been almost afraid to bring it up. Yet now here he was coming out with it at a time like this!

“Not because I think you need reassurance that the remaining five scars on your body might still put me off in some way”, he said (I was beginning to wonder if all this sea air was enabling him to develop his own mind-reading tendencies). “Because I want to fuck you out here. Tonight.”

I looked at him in surprise.

“There is a storm due tonight”, I pointed out.

“Yes”, he said. “I want to fuck you with your hands gripping the rails out here in a thunderstorm while I pound into you and we both scream to our heart's content.”

There was only one thing I could say to such an idea.

“Hell yes!”

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Even though the light no longer worked, there was something raw and elemental in being outside, stark naked and grasping the metal railings that ran round the outside of the actual light. John had very gently inserted the plug into me while we were inside and now he removed it and positioned himself at my entrance. Ye Gods, for one of the supposedly most intelligent men in England why had I never done this before? I was such a moron!

“Please?” I begged. 

“My beloved Sherlock”, he yelled as the thunder rumbled in the distance. There was a flash of lightning to the north and he finally pushed home. I moaned in sheer delirium.

“Are you all right?” he called anxiously.

“I will be when you move!” I yelled back. “Do it, John!”

He grabbed me with far more care than was needed and began to thrust, then reached round and began to jerk me off. I screamed my happiness to the heavens and another rumble of thunder answered. The lightning flashed at almost the same time – the storm had to be overhead now, and then I was coming harder than I had ever done in my life before. I was surely in Heaven.

Then John came inside me.

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It was worth the humiliation of my having passed out our first time like that, at least as we were most definitely going to repeat the experience if I had anything to say about it. Fortunately my on-site doctor insisted on a repeat prescription of such sessions on at least a daily basis for the considerable time. And they do say that the doctor always knows best.

We spent most of the rest of that year on the island but decided to leave in early December so that we could celebrate Christmas in Baker Street. Luke came over one last time two weeks before our departure, rather unluckily just after we had been outside my having John's 'treatment' yet again. I had not known that my brother could turn that shade of red, not helped when Tom the fisherman guffawed all the way back to his boat. I was actually beginning to feel happy again.

Unfortunately, things were not going to be that easy.

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End file.
